


a beacon burning endlessly bright

by lavenderseaslug



Category: Holby City
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 04:57:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9584525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderseaslug/pseuds/lavenderseaslug
Summary: [The Wedding Date AU] The invitation sits on Bernie’s kitchen table, pure white, delicate, and threatening as hell. “Berenice Wolfe and Guest” is printed in script across the top.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes I adopt prompts! I love prompts!
> 
> This is from mrscdalloway on tumblr:  
> "Berena Prompt: Think "The Wedding Date" with Debra Messing and Dermot Mulroney. Bernie is attending Alex's wedding and for some reason decides to post an ad. Serena, still a surgeon, is dared by Jac to answer. Cue delicious chaos."
> 
> Tropes! Bernie! Serena! Romantic comedy! Enjoy! (Thanks to [missparker](http://archiveofourown.org/users/missparker/pseuds/missparker) for letting me take one of her prompts out to play)
> 
> Title from [Making Love Out of Nothing At All](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qEd6QUbK2Mw) by Air Supply (which is a small detail from the film that is absolutely not referenced in this fic at all)

The invitation sits on Bernie’s kitchen table, pure white, delicate, and threatening as hell. “Berenice Wolfe and Guest” is printed in script across the top. It would’ve been easier if she wasn’t expected to bring someone along with her, but both her pride and custom dictate that she should find a date to this wedding. To Alex’s wedding.

Bernie taps the invitation with her fingers decisively before standing, stiffly. Being blown up by an IED is apparently not something one recovers from quickly, no matter how much she would like that to be the case. She hasn’t seen Alex since she lost her commission. When they were in the desert together, in their happy bubble uninterrupted by reality, Alex made passing comments about someone back home, but Bernie pushed them from her mind, just as she kept Marcus relegated to the corners of her brain where she rarely ventured.

But now, back in England, back in the real world, Bernie is divorced and Alex has apparently decided to make a go of it with this - Bernie looks down at the card on the table to remind her of the name - Margot.  And so Bernie resigns herself to finding a date. The idea strikes her to place an ad in the paper - bringing a stranger to this wedding holds much more appeal than bringing anyone who knows about the baggage she shares with one of the brides.

So she sits down to try to craft an appropriate sounding advert. She knows that she’ll get a fair amount of toads that will answer the request, but she can only hope there will be a good egg in there as well.

 

\- - -

 

“Wanted: friendly woman, late 40s-mid 50s to accompany ex-soldier to a weekend wedding. All expenses paid for, complimentary wine of choice guaranteed as an extra perk. Sense of humor a must, ability to withstand awkward situations a given.” Jac chuckles at the last line. “You’ve been looking for a weekend away, Campbell. Here’s your chance.” 

Serena Campbell has barely been listening this whole time, regretting the choice to say anything about her mundane world outside of the hospital to Jac, who has been taking the opportunity to use it as a point of sly mockery when she can. She rather thinks she’s being taught a lesson about ever engaging Jac in personal conversation.

“But a weekend with a stranger and all the Shiraz you could ask for, apparently,” Jac says, dangling the paper in front of Serena’s face. Serena snatches it away, if only to put an end to this conversation.

“The wine does make it a little more tempting,” she says, thoughtfully, before chastising herself for even considering this harebrained idea.

“Come on, Campbell. Do us all a favor and get a weekend away. I dare you.” Jac’s arms are crossed, her eyebrow quirked in a challenge. Serena looks back down at the paper in her hands. 

“This is for next week!” she says, feeling exasperation creep in. Negotiating Jason’s schedule is no small feat, even with plenty of advance notice. Jac says nothing, but Serena feels her gaze still on her. Jac is hardly the type of woman to meddle in, or even care about, anyone else’s personal life, except for those she begrudgingly respects, so even this friendly dare carries some weight. “I’ll think about it.”

And she does think about it. She tentatively makes plans for Jason to stay with Alan for the weekend in question, she buys a large bottle of wine, she drinks half of it before picking up her phone to ring the number in the advert.

“Hello?” The voice on the other end is deep, husky, but unmistakably female. Serena quashes a noise of surprise. It doesn’t bother her, not really. She’s played for both teams, as it were, but it’s just unexpected.

“Yes, hello. My name is Serena and I’m...I’m calling about the ad.” She feels foolish and silly and old all at once. This isn’t how meeting someone is supposed to work (not that there’s anything romantic about this scenario) and this isn’t something she’s used to doing at all.

“Um, yes. Right. The ad.” Serena gets the sense that this woman is just as uncomfortable with this as Serena herself is. What a mystery, then, that she would decide to place an ad at all. “My name’s Bernie, Berenice, really, but it’s a mouthful.”

Serena hums a laugh at that, wishes there was a guide for getting to know a stranger over the phone. “Look, I don’t know what I’m doing,” she says after a bit, deciding to go for honesty. “A colleague suggested I go for this, I’m free those dates, and it’d be nice to get away. And the wine was just icing on the cake.” She spits it all out quickly and takes another gulp of wine, holding the speaker away from her mouth.

“It’s my ex’s wedding. It’ll be a bit strained, I imagine.” Serena can hear Bernie take a drink of something on her end of the phone and feels a sense of relief that they’re both struggling at this. “I, um. I can meet up with you to discuss details beforehand, if you like. Or at least to give you a sense of what to pack. There’s a hen do as well as the wedding itself, is that all right?”

“I don’t have much free time, to be honest. I’m a surgeon, work long hours. It’s a miracle I can get away for a whole weekend as it is. Perhaps you could send me an itinerary and what to bring?” Serena’s starting to feel like maybe this is a mistake, to spend a whole weekend with someone without really meeting them beforehand. “You’re not a murderer or anything, are you?”

Her question is greeted with a honk of laughter that makes Serena feel a little more at ease. “I’m not, no. Just a soldier who lost her commission and doesn’t want to go to a wedding without a beautiful woman on her arm. Look, let’s try to talk on the phone a bit more before the weekend itself, and I’ll have a train ticket messengered to you. If you’re still interested, that is.”

Serena is surprised to find that she is interested, that she does want to meet this woman with the loud laugh and low voice. “I’m free Wednesday night, if you’re up for a chat then,” she says. She’s feeling a little worried that maybe she won’t be what Bernie considers beautiful, doesn’t know how to bridge that question. “Do you...do you want to see a picture? Make sure I’m up to your standards?” The nervousness is evident in her voice and Serena wishes she could come across a little bit braver.

“I’m sure you’re lovely,” Bernie says, her voice quiet, unexpectedly calming Serena’s anxiety, and with a line like that, Serena wonders why Bernie can’t find a wedding date the old-fashioned way. “Your voice is, anyway. I’ll enjoy spending time dreaming up what you look like.” Serena blushes, distinctly feeling as though she’s being flirted with. 

They end the call shortly after, confirming a time to talk on Wednesday, and Bernie gets Serena’s work address, for ticket delivery. Serena sits for a bit, phone in her hand, and doesn’t much feel the need to finish the whole bottle of wine anymore.

 

\- - -

 

Bernie is packed, she’s ready to go. She has an outfit for the cocktail reception, an embarrassing golf ensemble for the hen party, and a dress for the wedding. She has pajamas and a toothbrush. She has a bottle of wine to give to Serena on the train, and two glasses to go with it, even. She’s tense, wishing they’d had time to meet in person beforehand, knows Serena wishes that too (she’d said as much on the phone just the other night). So they’ll meet on the train, two seats reserved in first class, and Bernie has to stop herself from chewing at her nails.

The honk from the taxi outside startles her from her reverie and she gathers her luggage, mismatched bags and all, and goes to meet her driver. She dumps her things unceremoniously in the boot, straightens her coat, and slides into the backseat of the cab.

The ride is relatively short, and Bernie half hopes for some sort of traffic jam, to delay this meeting. She’s full of anxiety and regret and what if Serena doesn’t even show up and what if this was all a mistake. 

But then she catches sight of a woman unloading a set of matching, lovely suitcases from a taxi in front of the train station. Her brunette hair is short, but thick. She has a lovely neck, and Bernie can’t see much else, but imagines she has kind eyes too. She feels certain, in the pit of her stomach, that this is Serena. 

She dawdles for a bit, draws out paying her fare to give Serena time to get settled on the train ahead of her. But, finally, it is inevitable, and she heads towards the frontmost car of the train, hands her suitcases up to the porter and glances around for her seat. She sees a brunette head sitting in the window seat of her row, and feels a flush of pleasure.

It doesn’t make it any less awkward, though, to approach the seats, to say, “Serena?” and to hold out her hand to this stranger. Serena starts at the sound, but her features quickly organize themselves into a smile, and Bernie thinks her ability to rapidly change her expression will only be an asset during this weekend. 

Serena’s handshake is warm and firm, the best kind. Her eyes are, in fact, kind. They are soft and inviting and Bernie thinks they are dangerous, too. She has to remind herself that this isn’t anything romantic, that this is all a pretense to save face. “Major Berenice Wolfe, at your service,” she says, tipping an imaginary hat before sitting down next to Serena. 

She hands over the bottle of Shiraz, and the glasses, though makes sure to say Serena is under no obligation to share. “Don’t be daft,” is all Serena says, pouring a hefty portion for them both. “I think we’ll each need some extra courage for this.” And there it is - Serena is just as nervous as Bernie and somehow that sets them both at ease.

 

\- - -

 

Bernie is beautiful. It’s an objective fact. Her nose is long, her cheekbones are high, her eyes are dark, her lips are thin. All together, quite an attractive face to spend a train ride next to. She’s tall and thin, too, and Serena can’t believe that Bernie can’t find some lucky lady she actually knows to bring to this wedding. 

She’s getting up the courage to ask Bernie as much when Bernie turns to her and says, “It’s, ah, it’s a bit awkward, but Alex, the bride, well, one of the brides, she and I...we were, uh, we were together in the army. While she was involved with Margot. The other bride.” Bernie never offered any details of the nature of her relationship with Alex over the phone, but Serena is glad to have this question answered, at least slightly. “I was married, too, at the time. But that ended when I came back.” She goes silent, plucking at the fabric of her shirt, no longer looking at Serena. 

Serena, who’s had her share of embarrassing moments and unfortunate romantic entanglements, touches Bernie’s face gently, tilting Bernie’s face towards her so their eyes meet once again. “There’s no judgement, Bernie. That’s the benefit of a stranger, I suppose.” And then it makes sense, why Bernie would place an ad. Her friends probably all know her ex-husband or they know Alex. Serena is a clean slate, and she will be on Bernie’s side for all of it, no matter what comes up. “I’d imagine rules feel suspended when you’re in the army. Everything is much more immediate over there, it’s probably difficult to remember what’s back here.” Serena doesn’t know what she’s talking about, not really, but she’s met enough veterans and enough soldiers to be able to make this educated guess.

Bernie smiles a sad smile, her eyes still dark and distant. “Close enough. It’s easy to remember, but difficult to care.” There it is, Serena supposes. She lets her hand drop from Bernie’s cheek, surprising herself at being so forward. 

Time passes, the rhythm of the train lulling Bernie to sleep, her head drooping until it’s resting on Serena’s shoulder. She drools and snores and Serena is grateful that this woman isn’t completely perfect. 

Serena stares out the window at the countryside whipping past, sends a text to Jason, just to say hello, hope he’s well. He answers back quickly that Alan is much better at Countdown than she is, but that he misses her, and she’ll take that. 

Bernie stirs when the train pulls into the station, her hair mussed, her mascara smeared on one eye. She looks a little bit of a fright, and Serena tells her so, her voice amused as Bernie wipes at her face to no avail. 

“We’ll pop into the loo and get ourselves straightened up. You’ll be right as rain in no time,” Serena says, gently propelling Bernie forwards, down the steps and onto the platform. The porter helps load their suitcases onto a dolly, and Serena pushes it towards the nearest lavatory. 

They haven’t really discussed intimacy, or how committed they are in this false scenario where they’re dating, but that doesn’t stop Serena from dampening a towel and dabbing at Bernie’s face, wiping water back with her thumb. Bernie doesn’t flinch from her touch, just watches, quiet and careful. 

“You don’t need much to look gorgeous, do you?” Serena asks rhetorically, humor dancing in her eyes as she reapplies her own lipstick and fluffs her hair needlessly. Bernie just faintly blushes and offers a shrug. “Never really learned how to do it. Not that important overseas.”

They find themselves a taxi, and Bernie gives the driver the address of the hotel.  _ No turning back now, Campbell _ , Serena says to herself as the cab peels away from the curb.

 

\- - -

 

The hotel is nice enough. There are wedding guests everyone, most of whom Bernie doesn’t recognize, though there are a few familiar faces from photos Alex carried around with her. She reaches for Serena’s hand, grateful to have an ally in all of this. They check in and Bernie practically drags her to the lift, can’t get away fast enough.

“How will you survive a whole weekend?” Serena asks, and Bernie supposes that’s a fair question. She looks at Serena, whose eyes are still so kind and warm and whose hand is still encircled in her own.

“That’s why you’re here,” Bernie offers, because she doesn’t know what else to say, isn’t even sure she can survive this weekend. Ending things with Alex hadn’t been pleasant, nor had she handled it well. She’d attempted a terse brush-off but Alex came to her flat, sent flowers, refused to accept the break-up, until Bernie had finally shouted that she was still married and needed to give Marcus a chance. “I wish you were braver, Bern,” was all that Alex had said then, her voice sad, and she’d drifted away, allowed the door to close between them, and had barely spoken to Bernie since.

“Not much time before the cocktail party tonight,” Bernie says when they arrive at their floor. “But there’s not much planned for tomorrow except for a luncheon and the hen party.” Serena flicks the key card through the reader, the light flashing red on her first try. She gives it another go, and the light goes green, the lock clicks. 

“Let’s unpack, then change, and then maybe sort out our official story, hmm?” she asks, already unzipping her large suitcase. She’s brought her own hangers, and at least one dress fresh from the cleaners, still in the plastic bag. Bernie nods her assent, heads to the sink to wash her face properly, somehow already missing Serena’s gentle touch as she wipes at her mascara. 

Serena knocks softly at the bathroom door. “Bernie? I could use your help with the zipper on this,” she says and Bernie turns from the mirror and opens the door quickly. She bites back a chuckle, not because Serena looks ridiculous by any means, but because she’s somehow managed to match the color of Bernie’s dress for tonight. “What?” Serena asks defensively, her hands going to her hips, the material at the back of her dress gaping from the open zipper.

Saying nothing, Bernie goes to her suitcase and rifles around, then pulls out a dress in the same shade of red.

“Oh, we can’t go in there all matchy-matchy!” Serena says indignantly and Bernie raises her eyebrow at the turn of phrase. “Matching is fine, it’s matchy-matchy you have to watch out for. It’ll look like we’re trying to hard. Let me see what else I have - I doubt you’ve brought spare outfits,” Serena says, with a sniff at Bernie’s much smaller suitcase.

“I hardly imagined we’d accidentally end up looking like a pair of fraternal twins!” Bernie answers, and then her mouth drops as Serena shucks off her dress and walks to the closet, rifling through her other garments. 

“How’s this?” she asks, holding up a simple black dress and Bernie nods, because she’s never known what to say when someone asks her opinion of clothes. “It’ll cover your body” is usually the most she can muster, which is never the right thing to say. Serena slides it off the hanger and steps into it, pulling the sleeves up over her shoulders. “I will need help with the zipper now, truly.” And Bernie obliges, ignores how close she is to Serena, the slightly citrus smell that clings to her neck, the way her fingers feel as they slide the closure up. She rests her hands briefly on Serena’s shoulders, then brings her hands back down to her side. 

Serena’s been holding her breath, Bernie can tell, so she steps away. They both need a little space, perhaps.

 

\- - -

 

The cocktail reception is awkward. Serena is glad she was prepared for this, that Bernie had warned her ahead of time. She’s in heels, her lipstick dark and red, her cheeks rosy. Bernie’s standing slightly behind her, as if to hide, like a blonde shadow.    


“Come on, you want to save face, not look like you’re being dragged around.” Serena grasps Bernie’s hand firmly and tows her to the bar. “Shiraz, two. We’ll definitely be coming back.” She deposits a sizeable tip into the jar with a smile, and the bartender grins widely, pours them full glasses and sets the rest aside. 

Bernie now has her wineglass to hide behind and Serena can only roll her eyes. “You’re terrible at this. Why didn’t you just say you couldn’t come until tomorrow and avoid this altogether?” Bernie takes a sip, considering her answer. 

“I wanted to see Alex before...I just wanted to be able to see her.” Serena knows what unrequited love feels like, the mark a romance ended too soon leaves, and squeezes Bernie’s hand. “I don’t love her anymore,” Bernie adds, but Serena isn’t quite sure she believes it. 

“Well, the way you look tonight, and the way  _ I  _ look tonight, she’ll be sorry she let you go.” This is the best Serena can do, but it earns her a small lift of Bernie’s mouth, and that feels like enough for now. “Now drink up, and let’s look for the lucky bride to get this over with.”

Serena watches Bernie scan the crowd, but they’re both taken off guard when a voice comes from behind them. “Alex Dawson, reporting for duty, Major.”

Bernie whips around so fast that her glass almost spills and Serena reaches out a hand to steady her. Alex is tall and gorgeous and Serena feels instantly inferior. But Bernie hasn’t forgotten the ruse, and pulls Serena next to her, holds tightly to her arm. 

“Serena Campbell, pleasure to meet you. Best wishes on your marriage,” she says, holding out her hand, remembering the old adage that you only wish a groom congratulations. Alex looks her up and down and Serena feels well and truly judged, but they shake hands all the same. “So you’re the one that let Berenice Wolfe get away.” Bernie’s hand tightens on Serena’s bicep, but Serena ignores it. Best to drive the point home.

“Mmm,” is the only response Alex gives and her eyes flick back to Bernie, who seems well and truly frozen at the sight of her. “Good to see you, Bern,” she says with a softness that is only reserved for those with whom one has been truly intimate. 

“You - you too.” Bernie clears her throat, takes a deep sip of wine, too deep, and immediately splutters. Alex moves forward but Serena blocks her access to Bernie. 

“That’s all right, dearest, just hit the wrong pipe. Let’s get you some water,” Serena says, rubbing Bernie’s back, steering her back towards the bar and away from Alex. She thinks she sold herself as Bernie’s new girlfriend rather well, but doesn’t congratulate herself too heartily until Bernie can breathe properly again.

 

\- - -

 

It’s Margot who finds them next. Margot, who is young and pretty and pale, naturally red hair in gentle curls that Bernie could never hope to achieve. Margot who can speak politely to anyone in the room, who moves about as if hosting comes as naturally as breathing. Bernie hates her, only because she is everything Bernie isn’t. 

Bernie is sulkily drinking wine while Serena tries to tease her out of her bad mood, and Margot slides into a chair across from them. “You must be Bernie,” she says warmly and Bernie flicks her eyes up in acknowledgement. “I did worry you wouldn’t know anyone here, but Alex insisted you be invited to this as well.” She’s kind, too, Bernie thinks and hates Margot a little more.

She feels Serena nudge her and straightens in her chair. “This is Serena Campbell, my, ah, my girlfriend.” They hadn’t officially decided on terminology but Serena takes no note of Bernie’s halting words and holds her hand out to Margot. 

“You must be the lucky lady,” she says and Bernie thinks she may have brought the one person who could rival Margot’s congenial manner. She watches Serena with eyes wide in appreciation. 

Margot ducks her head. “Lucky enough. Glad you’re both here, hope it’s not too dull for you!” Her voice is bright and happy, filled with the excitement of someone marrying the love of her life in a few days time. “I always hate these formal receptions where there’s no dancing, just talking in circles and trying to remember who you’re related to and how.” Bernie hates her a little less, because that’s exactly how she feels about this sort of thing. 

“Oh, what I wouldn’t do for a good spin on the dancefloor - something to look forward to after your wedding, eh?” Serena asks jovially. Bernie doesn’t want Serena to get her hopes up - she’s never been much of a dancer. 

“Oh, you have to come with us to the dance lesson tomorrow - it’ll be miserable. I’m absolutely pants at dancing and Alex has no sense of rhythm -” Here, Bernie disagrees with Margot “-but we have to practice for our first dance. It would be so nice to have a friendly face there, help ease the tension.”

Bernie hardly thinks her presence there will ease any sort of tension, but Serena is already agreeing to it for the both of them. Margot dashes off details of where and when before Bernie can even object and then is off to get another glass of champagne. 

“I don’t even feel like I could hate her if I tried,” Serena says. “Which makes me hate her all the more.” Bernie appreciates the solidarity, even as she’s upset that she now has to go to some sort of dancing lesson in the morning, when she’d planned to use the hotel’s exercise room to run off some of her stress. 

Serena excuses herself to the ladies’ and Bernie finds herself alone at the table, looking around for Alex once more. She really doesn’t want to get back together with her, really, but she does want to apologize, or clear the air, or  _ something _ because she just feels the tension between them, thick and heavy.

But she’s saved from having to see Alex again when Serena descends on their table once more and pulls Bernie up by the elbow. “We’re begging off the rest of this evening - we’ve got a dance lesson tomorrow and need all the rest we can get.” Bernie supposes she agrees, grateful for this ridiculous dance if only because it’s getting her back to the hotel room sooner rather than later.

 

\- - -

 

Serena didn’t think about sleeping arrangements when they were figuring everything else out. But there’s only one bed. She and Bernie stand next to each other, looking at it. “I can sleep on the -” Bernie starts but Serena puts her hand up, doesn’t even let her finish the sentence. She’s seen how stiffly Bernie moves, won’t even entertain the idea of the former soldier sleeping anywhere but the bed. 

“There’s room enough for us both, I suppose,” she says. “I take the left, usually. Hope that won’t be a problem.” She is more matter-of-fact than she feels, goes into the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth. Bernie joins her moments later, and she moves to side a bit to make room at the sink. It feels very domestic, this sharing of space. They both go to spit into the basin at the same time, Bernie stopping short so their heads don’t hit. 

Serena smiles at Bernie in the mirror as she rinses her mouth, pats her on the hip as she passes behind her to get into bed. Bernie’s mouth goes slack and it takes her a moment to recover. 

Serena, too, feels a little heady from Bernie’s presence. She’s felt this way before, with both men and women, attracted and attractive all at once. She’s happy to pretend with Bernie, for this weekend, but can’t help but wish there was something more between them. She mashes a hand into the pillow, plumping it under her head, and facing away from the bathroom. She hears the light click off and feels Bernie slide under the covers next to her. 

“Thanks.” Bernie says softly and Serena moves onto her back, looks over at Bernie, haloed in the light from the lamp by the bed. It’s ridiculous how angelic she looks and Serena hates herself for thinking it.

“For what? I hardly did anything.” Serena knows she’s fishing a little bit, likes to hear compliments, but she truly did the bare minimum, just stood or sat by Bernie’s side for the night, easy as you please.

“You did enough,” Bernie’s voice is quiet and her eyes are soft and open, her gratefulness shining through and Serena can barely take it.

“Well, I also got you signed up for a dance lesson in the same room as Alex tomorrow, so don’t go thanking me too soon.” Serena sighs and rolls onto her other side, so she and Bernie are facing each other, their bodies a mirror image.

“I’m a fair dancer, I’ll have you know,” Bernie says. “Had to go to army banquets a fair amount, and you’re expected to learn. I reckon I can keep you on your toes.” Serena knows now she’s being flirted with and doesn’t do anything to quash the blush that is coloring her features. 

“I can hold my own, Major,” she answers, letting Bernie’s title roll off her tongue and it’s the other woman’s turn to flush red. Serena enjoys the effect she’s having on Bernie, reminds herself she’s still got some gas in her tank after all. 

Bernie clears her throat and looks up at the ceiling. “I don’t know what I expected when I placed the ad, but it wasn’t this.” Serena doesn’t know if she’s supposed to be offended, but then Bernie’s hand finds hers. “You’re better than you sold yourself over the phone, is all.” 

“It still boggles the mind that you’d have to place an advert at all. I mean, I get it, not wanting to bring someone who knows all your baggage, but surely you’ve a line of women banging down your door!” Serena moves her hand from Bernie’s - they’re not in this for more than a weekend and she doesn’t want to get too attached, though she’s feeling like that might be a lost cause.

“There’s no line. It’s just - just me. An injured ex-army medic is hardly worth chasing down, most people find.” There’s no complaint in Bernie’s tone, no request for sympathy, just a statement of fact. She sees herself in such low regard that Serena finds herself feeling sympathy all the same. 

“Someone once told me that every woman has the exact love life she chooses,” Serena says, unsure of why it is she’s bringing this up now. She doesn’t even know if she agrees with the sentiment, but she can practically feel Bernie tense up next to her.

“Yes, I’ve chosen to suffer a near fatal injury that has left me stiff and scarred and useless. Thank you so much for that perspective.” And with that, Bernie flips off the light and turns away from Serena, leaving her to feel quite foolish.

 

\- - -

 

Bernie still doesn’t want to engage Serena in conversation in the morning. She responded harshly, she knows, but that doesn’t mean she’s ready to talk. They eat breakfast in bed, but with none of the easy domesticity they shared the night before over the sink. Bernie’s cup clanking against the saucer is the most noise that either of them make. Serena, for her part, meekly accepts the silent treatment, dresses in a blousy shirt and trousers, but puts on a pair of leopard heels that Bernie finds endearing, for all their impracticality. 

Bernie still can’t believe they’re doing this, can’t believe she somehow got roped into this, but is at least grateful that she’s equipped with a partner who can dance when, by all accounts, Alex and Margot will be tripping over each other. It’s petty, but sometimes she lives in her pettiness. 

“I didn’t mean,” Serena begins as they’re getting their things together to leave, and Bernie sighs, pulling her coat on and buttoning it. “I didn’t mean that you’d chosen your injury or that you’re using it as some sort of crutch. I mean that you’re using Alex as a reason to stay out of the game.” She’s careful in her word choice, Bernie can tell. She’s been thinking about this for a while. Bernie considers her words. 

“I’m not  _ choosing _ to use her that way, that’s just how she is. If I could get her out of my head, I would, and gladly.” It’s the truth. Alex pops up when Bernie least wants her to. She’s not only a reminder of heady passion and hot nights, but of wanton infidelity and heavy guilt. These are the things she feels when a woman makes a pass at her in a bar, or writes her number on a napkin. That’s how Alex stands in the way, not because Bernie is endlessly pining for her.

Serena shrugs. “Fair enough,” she says, but Bernie can tell she’s not completely satisfied with that answer. But she shoulders her purse and opens the door, gesturing for Bernie to leave first. The door shuts behind them, and they go silently to the front desk, where a cab is called for them. 

The dance studio is sparse, just an open floor and mirrors along one side. Bernie doesn’t know what she was expecting, but she supposes she prefers this to any room adorned in frippery and bows. The instructor is a character, loud and passionate, extolling them to show the passion they have for each other through their movements on the dance floor. Serena rolls her eyes with good humor, catching Bernie’s eyes, and she smiles. “All you have is each other and whatever skills you acquire today,” the woman says, and Bernie grips Serena a little more tightly than is perhaps required.

The music starts, it’s uptempo and faster than Bernie was expecting. She looks over to Alex and Margot, their arms awkwardly around each other, and the dance instructor is doing her best to make their hips move independently of their torsos. Serena laughs at this, ducks her head into Bernie’s shoulder to muffle the sound and Bernie feels her breath, warm, on her neck. 

Dancing with Serena is like nothing Bernie’s ever done. For one, she rarely has gotten the opportunity to dance with a woman, and she appreciates Serena’s attentiveness to the music, to the shifts Bernie makes, to her willingness to follow Bernie’s lead. Their hands are clasped and Bernie relishes the softness of Serena’s hands, ones that are clearly lotioned often, to make up for endless washing before and after surgery.

Bernie forgets about Alex, forgets about Margot. She is thinking only of the woman in her arms, those kind, brown eyes that are tracking Bernie’s own. They’re laughing again, and Bernie isn’t even sure at what. She just knows that this is something special. She drops Serena’s hands, clasping her own at the small of Serena’s back. Serena’s hands go around Bernie’s neck and they’re just swaying in time to the music, and it isn’t until after the music stops that Bernie even remembers there were other people in the room with them.

 

\- - -

 

They have time to rest before the hen party, and Serena is grateful to have some alone time. Bernie goes down to use the exercise facilities, promising to be back in time to shower. Serena gets into bed, enjoying the cool sheets and the fresh pillows. She punches them up under her head, sneaks part of one of Bernie’s pillows over to her side too. She likes to feel as if she’s drowning in fluff. 

She’s woken by Bernie, gently touching her nose and saying “Serena” so softly and sweetly that she finds herself wishing she could wake up this way every morning. Bernie is sweaty and her hair is slick and wet and Serena still gasps at the sight. “I’m just going to hop in the shower - about an hour till we need to be there, all right?” Bernie says and moves out of Serena’s line of sight.

Serena takes a deep breath, wants to tell herself that there’s nothing going on between her and Bernie, but even she doesn’t quite believe that anymore. She sits up, runs her fingers through her hair to settle it down. She rifles through the drawers under the television and finds her argyle sweater and matching socks, along with a more modest golf skirt than she suspects one would usually find at a hen party of this nature. Her golf shoes are next to the luggage rack. She did always like to fully commit to a theme.

Bernie comes out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam, toweling her hair dry. Serena’s half naked, caught between shirts. She smiles apologetically at Bernie as she buttons up her white shirt, then pulls the argyle sweater over it all. “Sit down, let me brush your hair,” she offers without really thinking, except she knows she’s wanted to touch Bernie’s hair since it first made an appearance in her life. 

Bernie sits obligingly on the bench in front of the bed and Serena settles behind her, using her fingers to card through the fine blonde strands, massaging Bernie’s scalp slightly. She can see in the room’s mirror that Bernie’s eyes are closed, her face a mask of quiet ecstasy. At least she’s doing this part right. She picks up her brush and continues the ministrations for far longer than is necessary, and when she finishes and sets the brush aside, Bernie leans back into her chest, eyes still closed, and hums out her contentment. Serena’s arms go around her shoulders, draping over her chest, and Bernie’s hands move up to rest against Serena’s forearms, her thumbs gently rubbing against the fine hair there. Her eyes open and she looks up at Serena, who is fully flushed now, the closeness intoxicating. 

“Best - best get dressed. We’ll have to leave any minute now,” Serena manages to get out before pulling away from Bernie and escaping to the bathroom to fix her makeup. She leaves the door slightly ajar, watches Bernie through the narrow slit. She touches her hair thoughtfully, then drops her towel and Serena straightens and looks away quick as you can, pursing her lips and applying a fresh coat of red.

 

\- - -

 

Bernie is only half focused on the ride to the bar where they’re lined up to have their first hole of pub golf. Well, she’s less than half focused. All she can really think about is what it would be like to kiss Serena. She still feels those surgeon’s hands on her scalp, still hears Serena’s intake of breath as she rests her head against her chest. And Serena’s sat right next to her in the cab, the pinky of her left hand brushing lightly against Bernie’s and she can feel it  _ everywhere _ . 

They get out in front of a rather seedy looking establishment and Bernie thinks the name sounds familiar but can’t quite place it. She pays the fare and they get out, though Bernie is loathe to go inside just yet. Serena seems to feel the same way, because she leans against a lamppost and looks at Bernie appraisingly. “Why’d you pick me?” she asks. “I bet loads of people called you in response to your posting.”

Bernie nods, embarrassed. She did get more phone calls than she’d thought she would at the outset. “Well, a handful of the calls were men, so they were out right at the beginning. And then there were some who were clearly too young, some clearly too old -”

“So I’m Baby Bear’s porridge, is that it?” Serena asks, a twinkle in her eye and Bernie laughs and shakes her head. 

“I just liked your voice.” She shrugs, because there isn’t really any other reason than that. Serena sounded normal on the phone, made her laugh, and that was all she really needed to seal the deal. Bernie moves in close to Serena, whose heels make their heights even. “Your socks are ridiculous,” she says, their noses almost touching.

Serena just breathes for a moment. Then Bernie finds herself being kissed by a very eager Serena, her hands once more behind Bernie’s neck, once more tangling in her hair. She wonders what it is about her wavy locks that seems to attract Serena’s attention. But she doesn’t wonder about that for long, because Serena’s sliding her tongue along the seam of Bernie’s mouth and she has no choice but to open her lips and give herself over wholly to the giddy pleasure of kissing Serena Campbell.

A car pulls up behind them, and the slamming door startles them apart. “Normally it’s the husbands kissing their wives before the party, reminding them what they’ve got before they go off for a night of drunken debauchery - that’s the danger of a lesbian’s hen do, I suppose, because you can remind each other all night long” Alex says wryly, her eyebrow quirked, and Bernie feels Serena pull away slightly. 

“Sorry,” Bernie mutters, and Alex says nothing, but heads inside, the open door allowing Bernie and Serena to hear the hoots and hollers of the crowd gathered inside.

“I hope you’re not actually sorry, or I’ll have to adjust my self-esteem,” Serena says archly. She’s standing apart from Bernie now, arms crossed. 

“Just sorry she ruined the moment is all,” Bernie tries to rescue the moment. “Sorry she caught us like that. But I suppose it’s for the best - could’ve kept kissing you all night long if nothing had interrupted us.” Serena is gracious enough to chuckle, to drop her arms from their intimidating pose.

“She’s jealous, Bernie. Even if she’s marrying another woman, I think she’ll always love you, at least a bit. Can’t say I blame her, you’re hard to resist.” Serena flicks Bernie’s fringe back from her eyes, lets her hand rest against Bernie’s cheek. “You can make it up to me later, when I’m no longer wearing these ridiculous socks.” Sealing that promise with a wink, Serena heads into the bar, leaving Bernie no option but to dutifully follow behind her, good soldier that she is.

 

\- - -

 

It turns out Bernie knows the bartender - Alex does too. It’s an old army buddy, willing to toss them free drinks and extra rounds all night long. They’re greeted with a round of flaming shots and before Serena can think that she’s too old for all of this, she’s tossing it back. And then another, and another. The bar whirls around her, the only thing she can focus on is Bernie’s bright blonde hair, luminescent in the low light of the pub. She claims a stool, clings to the edge of the bar like a lifeline. Bernie joins her, begging out of a game of pool. Serena nuzzles into the space above Bernie’s armpit, teasing out a snort. “Thought you could hold your liquor, Ms. Campbell,” Bernie says and Serena can only look up at her blearily.

“When it comes in the form of a nice bottle of wine or sipped glasses of whisky. I haven’t done shots in I don’t know how long.” Her words are slurring slightly, only furthering Bernie’s amusement, but Serena can’t find it in herself to get irritated. She reaches into her purse, fiddles around until she finds ibuprofen, which she tosses back with a glass of water. “To head off tomorrow’s headache. I’m wishing we’d had a real dinner tonight.” 

“We’ll know for our next hen party,” Bernie says, and Serena wonders if she realizes she’s just committed them to going to a wedding together in some unknown future. The look on Bernie’s face moments later tells her that she does and before she can backtrack, Serena puts a finger to Bernie’s lips. “We’ll know for next time,” she agrees and Bernie smiles, lets her lips linger on Serena’s forefinger.

Alex orders them all something called a “red-headed slut” and Serena tosses it back with abandon. Bernie wonders when the last time she truly let go was, and says nothing. Serena sips at a brightly colored drink that comes with a paper umbrella, and her gregariousness is infectious. She is warm and friendly on a regular day, but when enough alcohol is added to the mix, everyone in her orbit is welcomed into her benevolent arms.

Alex finds Serena, when Bernie has escaped to the loo. She sits next to her on a barstool, and looks at Serena with sad eyes, eyes clouded with Long Island Iced Teas and flaming shots. “I don’t deserve to get married,” she says and Serena feels more sober than she’s felt all night. “I shouldn’t be allowed to get married.”

“Oh? Why’s that?” Serena asks, idly playing with the umbrella in her glass, but a fast-paced song starts and Alex practically flops off the stool to join in with the rest of her bachelorette coterie before she can answer. 

Bernie comes back then, slings an arm around Serena’s shoulders and it’s all Serena can do to not look up at Bernie with lovestruck eyes. She’s more than a little drunk, she can feel it, but also all she wants is to feel Bernie’s lips on hers again. She cranes her neck up, but Bernie pulls back. “Let’s head back to the hotel,” Bernie suggests, helping Serena to her feet, letting her lean against her. Serena thinks that’s a marvelous idea, and says so, loudly and Bernie looks a little embarrassed. 

They get a cab, fairly easily for the time of night, and ride quietly back to their hotel. It’s Serena’s turn to slump against Bernie, her head nestled on her shoulder. Their hands are next to each other once more, and Serena holds her hand against Bernie’s, palm to palm, like she’s measuring finger length. Then she slides her hand ever so slightly, clasps Bernie’s hand tightly, presses a kiss to the back of it. Bernie can’t find any impulse in her to complain about any of it.

 

\- - -

 

Serena wants to have sex, clearly. She’s pushing herself against Bernie, leaning on her in the elevator, and it’s all Bernie can do to keep her wandering hands at bay. She hasn’t known Serena very long at all, but knows enough to think that this would be something Serena would regret in the morning. 

The lift is quiet, except for the soft noises coming from Serena as she nuzzles Bernie’s neck, and Bernie can  _ feel _ Serena breathing in her scent. She’s got nothing on but plain bar soap and whatever smells have been imbued on her skin from the bar, but Serena seems to have no complaints. The elevator dings as they arrive at their floor and Bernie gently guides Serena to their room, fumbles with the key for several moments before finally gaining access. 

Serena pounces on Bernie as soon as the door clicks shut, pushing her against the wall and Bernie finds herself taken completely by surprise, her eyebrows high on her forehead as Serena kisses every inch of available skin - her jaw, her chin, her ears, her neck - even pushing down the vee of Bernie’s questionable golf sweater to kiss the slightly freckled skin of her chest.

“Serena,” Bernie says in a warning voice, grabbing hold of both of Serena’s hands in one of her own, and Serena pauses, arches her back slightly so she can look Bernie in the face. She has innocence painted on her features, but her pupils are dark, her eyes unfocused, and as much as Bernie would like to continue this, she knows she has to be the one to stop it before it goes too far. “Let’s get you to bed.”

It turns out that Bernie is the one to roll the ridiculous argyle knee socks down Serena’s calves, flinging them off her feet and onto the floor behind her. Serena shimmies out of her skirt, throws off her sweater, unbuttons her shirt, leaving herself quite exposed to Bernie’s traitorous gaze, because all Bernie wants to do is lick a line from Serena’s navel to the pulse point in her neck. Instead she tosses Serena’s pajamas at her and goes into the bathroom to calm down.

She brushes her teeth, flosses too. Counts to thirty, then comes back into the bedroom. Serena’s stolen one of her pillows again, all three bunched up under her head. She looks sleepily at Bernie and Bernie’s heart softens, her gaze too. She undresses quickly, slips on her ratty army shirt and slides under the covers. Serena is instantly at her side, arm around Bernie’s waist, face in the crook of Bernie’s neck. Bernie swears she hears Serena whisper “thank you” but Serena falls asleep so quickly, wrapped around Bernie, that Bernie wonders if she imagined it.

 

\- - -

 

Serena’s head hurts. She doesn’t want to open her eyes, the sun peeking through the blinds already assaulting her through her closed lids. She reaches out for Bernie - she does have a distant, foggy memory of falling asleep holding her, but only feels the cold bed under her hand. That’s enough to startle her eyes open. She tries to remember what happened the night before, but past her second flaming shot, everything goes a little out of focus. Serena closes her eyes again, hopeful she didn’t make too much of a fool of herself, hopeful that Bernie hasn’t run scared.

“I’ve got breakfast,” Bernie’s voice comes from somewhere near the bathroom, Serena thinks, and she rolls onto her side, squints at the door to their room, sees Bernie with a whole tray of food. “I don’t know what works for you,” she says, setting the tray down at the end of the bed, “so I got you some black coffee and some stale crackers, egg and cheese sandwich and a Bloody Mary.”

The proverbial hair of the dog does nothing to tempt Serena, but she reaches for the coffee, piping hot, wisps of steam rising up. “Strong and hot, that’s all I need,” she says, wrapping her hands around the mug, inhaling the scent before taking a sip. “Did we, ah, did we do anything last night?” she asks, trying to be braver than she feels.

Bernie looks at her strangely, but then recovers. “I was the perfect lady, simply escorted you to bed.” Serena tries to remember the previous evening, to see if that rings true. She does remember  _ smelling _ Bernie, and that makes a blush rise to her cheeks. 

“Thanks,” she mutters into her coffee, taking another sip. She can’t decide if she wishes something had happened, or is relieved that she didn’t drunkenly force herself onto Major Berenice Griselda Wolfe. Bernie sits next to her, the bed dipping slightly with her weight, and picks up the egg and cheese. She rips it in half and hands a portion to Serena, who takes it gladly.

When the coffee is finished, the sandwich devoured, Bernie moves the room service tray off the bed and onto the floor. “We have time before we have to be in anywhere, if you want to get some more sleep in. I could use some more sleep to, as a matter of fact. Your personal pillow, reporting for duty.” Bernie gives Serena a mock salute. Serena thinks that if she were living in some kind of romance novel, she would say something inane like “The last thing I want is more sleep,” to which Bernie would respond with a fiery kiss. 

What she does instead is simply lean into Bernie, shoulders touching, her head finding its now usual space, nestled in Bernie’s neck. She feels Bernie place a kiss to scalp, feels for Bernie’s hand on top of the duvet, and holds it tightly. She gets a flash of memory, of holding Bernie’s hand in the cab back to the hotel, of marveling at how their fingers fit together. She does it again, wants to remember it clearly. Palm to palm, fingertip to fingertip, and Serena just stares at their hands. Bernie sits quietly, lets her manipulate their fingers back and forth. And when Serena pulls away to look up at Bernie, Bernie kisses her.

Serena is glad they didn’t do anything the night before, is glad to have this memory, clear and bright, a wake up call to her senses. She’s kissed a lot of people in her time, but nothing seems to compare to this, to the feel of Bernie’s mouth on her own. 

She notices now that Bernie is dressed in only one of the hotel robes, that there’s nothing underneath the terrycloth. She slides her hand against Bernie’s skin and feels Bernie gasp. She touches a scar on Bernie’s neck and doesn’t push it when Bernie stiffens slightly. Bernie’s hands hit Serena’s bare hips and it’s Serena’s turn to inhale sharply. She pulls down her pajama bottoms as Bernie fiddles with the hem of Serena’s top, waiting until her arms are unoccupied before lifting it over her head. Serena pushes at the heavy bathrobe, baring Bernie’s chest. 

Through this all, Serena never wonders at how fast this feels, she only knows how  _ right _ it feels. She finds herself mesmerized by Bernie’s collar bone, by her breasts, by her flat stomach, by  _ everything _ . She can’t get enough, and, to her surprise, her enthusiasm is mirrored by Bernie, who seems to have had a plan to lick her, stem to stern, and is putting that plan into action with ruthless efficiency. 

Serena isn’t quiet, never has been. She punctuates everything with an “oh, god” or a “yes” or “don’t stop.” She feels like nothing will ever be enough when it comes to Bernie, that the feeling of Bernie’s fingers inside of her is only the precipice of all that she can feel. She kisses Bernie, full and purposeful, and Bernie twists her fingers just so and Serena yelps into Bernie’s mouth. Bernie laughs, crooks her fingers again and Serena bites hard on her lip, trying to think of the people in the next room before she can’t think of anything but Bernie. 

And then Bernie gets a devilish look in her eye, and before Serena can say another word, Bernie’s fingers are joined by Bernie’s tongue, and all pretence of politely considering other people goes out the window as Serena lets out a loud, low moan of pleasure. Bernie’s tongue is skillful, adept, a good soldier, and Serena is whimpering before she knows it. She’s unprepared for the feeling of Bernie sucking at her, and her fists clench in the sheets, and she shatters, undone in a matter of minutes, and marvels at the wonder that is Bernie Wolfe.

 

\- - -

 

Bernie lays with her head against Serena’s thigh, loathe to move from this very comfortable position in which she’s found herself. Serena tugs at her hair, wants her to join her at the head of the bed, and this is the only inducement she needs to move. Serena kisses her, her tongue swiping at all the corners of Bernie’s mouth, taking in the taste of herself intermingled with the taste that is uniquely Bernie. 

And then Bernie is treated to a display of just how talented a surgeon’s hands can be, finds herself rutting against Serena’s hand, finds herself coming harder and faster than she can remember doing so in recent times. Faster than she ever came with Alex, the thought comes unbidden into her head. But Serena’s mouth against the pulse point of Bernie’s neck, her tongue gently tracing the scar Bernie pretends isn’t there, is enough to make Bernie forget that there’s anyone else in the world except Serena Campbell. 

They sit quietly against the headboard, when they’re done, and Bernie is glad she didn’t do anything last night, that they got to have this instead. “So this is your hangover cure, eh?” she asks, nudging Serena with her bare shoulder and Serena just laughs, blushing prettily.

“I think I’d miss you even if we never met,” Serena says then, quietly, taking Bernie’s breath away. Their hands are joined once more, palm to palm, and Bernie says nothing, just squeezes the hand clasped in hers.

They get dressed in their wedding finery, Serena slipping new earrings on, paying special attention to her make up. Bernie does her usual routine, a swipe of slightly colored chapstick and a brush of mascara. Serena again scoffs at how it takes nothing at all to make Bernie look gorgeous. Bernie ducks her head, tries to come up with some appropriate comment that lets Serena know she’s beautiful with or without makeup, but fails, and instead says something about good genes under her breath.

Serena’s dress is light blue and delicate and perfect for a summer wedding. She knows how to impress a room full of strangers, has had to do it at endless galas and fundraisers. She slips her lipstick into her small clutch, kisses Bernie on the cheek and excuses herself to the lobby. “Meet you down there, soldier,” she says in a low voice and Bernie finds herself snapping to attention just as if she was back in the army. She thinks she’d follow Serena into battle.

 

\- - -

 

Having some distance from Bernie lets Serena’s head clear. She’s more intoxicating than the endless shots she’d done the previous evening. Serena waits for the life, her foot tapping a little impatiently, when she’s joined by Alex. 

“I didn’t know you were on this floor,” she says, bypassing any pleasantries. Alex gives her a tight smile. 

“Did I say anything? Last night? I remember talking to you, but I don’t remember what it was about.” Serena finds herself amazed that there was anyone who has a foggier memory of last night than she does, and tries to think back to the darkened pub. It hits her, then and she looks right into Alex’s eyes.

“You said you shouldn’t be allowed to get married,” she says, remembering it clearly. “But then Africa started playing and you bounced up to dance.” She knows she’s not being especially kind, but Alex hasn’t made any effort to endear herself to Serena.

“Do you know why? Did I say why?” Her voice sounds a little desperate and Serena takes pity, only a small amount, on her and shakes her head. “Margot doesn’t know about Bernie,” Alex says, quietly, and then it makes sense. Why Margot was so kind to them, why they’d been invited to the dance lesson. Margot only thinks of Bernie as Alex’s favorite army pal, nothing more. Serena can’t imagine what it would feel like to know you were the romantic rival of Bernie Wolfe, but thinks it must feel fairly intimidating, to go against a tall thin blonde with perfectly messy hair and dark, hungry eyes. 

“You should tell her,” Serena says, her tone clipped. She doesn’t believe in secrets or not being straightforward. Cut right to the heart of things, that’s her motto. “Before you get married, before she finds out somehow and feels trapped into a marriage where she wasn’t given all the facts.”

Alex’s eyes are wide, and a little frightened. “What if she leaves me?” Serena understands being scared, understands the fear of losing someone you love. She just shrugs. 

“Wouldn’t you rather give her the option of choosing to stay? Just think, you can have a really good row about it and then spend the next twenty-five years having truly incredible make-up sex.” She tries to lighten the mood, and Alex’s eyes flash slightly at the suggestion. “Just tell her. Start your marriage with a clean slate.” She touches Alex’s shoulder gently, and then the door to the lift slides open. 

“I’ll take the stairs,” Alex says, and Serena gets onto the elevator alone, leans against the wall, can’t quite believe she was just tasked with talking one of the brides off a ledge, that she’s somehow been thrown into the role of counselor to the woman Bernie used to love.

 

\- - -

 

Bernie meets Serena in the lobby some time later, dressed in a simple grey dress, a small fascinator clipped to her head. “Felt appropriate for the occasion,” she says in response to Serena’s raised eyebrow. “Not something I normally make a habit of.” She feels a little self-conscious, never one to chase opportunities for formal dress, outside of wearing her dress uniform to a few functions. She wonders idly what Serena would’ve done if she’d shown up wearing that, and her stomach lurches with pleasure.

“Margot doesn’t know that you and Alex were ever together,” Serena says quickly and quietly. Bernie’s dragged back into the real world, away from a fantasy revolving around a certain scene from “An Officer and a Gentleman.” 

“What’s that?” she asks, because she is hoping she hasn’t heard correctly.

“Margot doesn’t know that you and Alex were...doing whatever it was you were doing in the desert. She doesn’t know you were in love.” Serena’s hands are fidgeting nervously, plucking at the waistband of her dress. 

“How do you know that?  _ Why  _ do you know that?” Bernie asks, suddenly feeling mad, as if Serena’s been horning in on her personal life. Yes, Serena is here to act as a buffer between Bernie and Alex, but she’s not privy to everything that happened between them, and Bernie finds herself indignant at the thought of Serena meddling in it all.

“Alex told me. She sort of hinted at it last night, but I didn’t remember til this morning, and then we ran into each other at the elevators and she just, she spit it out at me. I told her she had to tell Margot, that it wasn’t fair that Margot didn’t know about an affair that spanned months.” Serena isn’t backing down from this and Bernie feels the righteous outrage of someone who doesn’t really have a leg to stand on but is angry all the same. But that feeling goes right out of her when she catches sight of Margot over Serena’s shoulder, her pretty mouth dropped open, her face ashen, her eyes sad. And when Serena turns to look at what has stopped Bernie in her tracks, Margot flees the scene.

“I’ll be back,” Bernie says, and goes into pursuit, leaving Serena standing alone in the lobby of a fancy hotel, looking forlornly after her.

Bernie finds Margot sitting, rather ironically, in the small convertible with a “Just Married” sign taped to the back, tin cans attached to streamers coming from the bumper. 

“I’m sorry,” she starts and Margot holds up a hand, halting anything she has to say.

“I know you don’t know me, but it seems rather cruel to let me get married without having all the facts,” she says and Bernie feels properly embarrassed.

“In my defense, I only found out that you didn’t have all the facts only moments before you did. Serena said she told Alex to tell you.” Bernie finds herself in the position of not having a leg to stand on for the second time in ten minutes and doesn’t quite enjoy feeling so off kilter.

“I would’ve told you,” Alex’s voice comes from over Bernie’s shoulder and Bernie steps aside instinctively. Her breath catches as she sees Alex, dressed in her white gown, her lithe frame beautiful and perfect, but Bernie’s mind conjures up an image of Serena’s sparkling eyes in response, and Bernie knows that she’s well and truly done with Alex, finds herself relieved.

“It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding,” Margot says morosely, and Bernie snorts, a little unkindly.

“I think you’ve rather had all the bad luck out this morning, so this can’t hurt anything,” she offers, and turns to leave. She’s got to find Serena, to make sure no other damage has been done this morning. Alex’s hand on her arm gives her pause and they look at each other, fully, for the first time since Bernie’s arrival. 

“Thanks, Bern,” is all she says, giving Bernie’s bicep a light squeeze, then letting her hand drop. She moves to sit next to Margot as Bernie leaves them to hash it out.

 

\- - - 

 

Serena doesn’t wait for Bernie to come back before walking to the wedding chapel. She finds a seat on Alex’s side, and fingers the stiff white program, worrying the corner of it until it’s almost ready to fall off. She’s filled with what-ifs. What if Bernie and Alex decide to run away together. What if Margot calls off the wedding. What if she offended Bernie beyond recover. What if Bernie realizes Serena isn’t what she wants. What if what if what if.

But then Bernie slides into the pew next to her, their thighs touching. She bumps Serena with her shoulder. “You know what I was thinking, when I was irrationally scolding you earlier?” She’s smiling, and Serena breathes a little easier, shakes her head. “I’d rather fight with you than make love with anyone else.”

Serena turns to look at Bernie, feeling like the wind’s been knocked out of her. “What does that mean?” Because nice words are all well and good, but she doesn’t know if this is some kind of statement of commitment or if it’s just something Bernie’s saying instead of actually apologizing. When it comes to flirting, she’s quite adept, and Serena could easily be swayed by pretty phrases and castles in the air, but she knows she wants more from this woman, and is generally someone who gets what she wants.

“It means that when we get back to Holby, I’d like to take you out to dinner. That dinner would be followed by dessert. And dessert would most definitely be followed by breakfast in bed. That even when you’re making me mad, I know you’re doing it because you think you’re right, not because you want to hurt me. That we’ve only known each other three days, but it feels like a lifetime, in the best way. That you’re right, I would miss you for the rest of my life if you weren’t in it.” She stops, suddenly embarrassed and Serena finds it endearing, knows that Bernie will never be this open again, most likely. She knows, even after only a weekend, that Bernie will stumble over finding the right words to say, that this is a rare moment. 

“I hope you helped Alex write her vows, Major. You’ve got quite a way with words,” Serena says, unable to resist mocking her a little, resting her hand on Bernie’s thigh, squeezing lightly and making Bernie twitch. Bernie blushes, leans into Serena.

“Do we think the wedding’s happening?” Serena asks, then, enjoying how close Bernie is, the feel of her blonde hair tickling her neck, the way Bernie’s hand rests atop her own.

“When I left them, they were talking it out,” Bernie shrugs. Serena looks sideways at Bernie, tries to gauge how she’s feeling about all of this. She knows Bernie isn’t in love with Alex, not anymore, knows that whatever she’s done this weekend, she’s helped Bernie move on. She smugly congratulates herself on being able to reap those benefits as well. 

Before Serena can say anything else, the Wedding March begins, and they stand, with the rest of the congregation. Bernie’s hand finds Serena’s again, clasped palm to palm, and as Alex walks up the aisle, Bernie only has eyes for the woman next to her.

 


End file.
